Day Tripper
by espiyo
Summary: Set after 9.1. Still hurt by Ruth's rejection, Harry has taken the weekend off and decided to get out of the city. Back in London, however, she is trying to get hold of him... Disclaimer: Kudos / The BBC own all.
1. Chapter 1

**Again, this should be fairly short and hopefully it will be a little bit fluffier than my last one, which **should have been fluffy but got derailed at the end!****

**Hope you enjoy and thank you as ever for reading.**

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><p>Although the heat of the day had subsided, the breeze was balmy and the sky promised at least another hour of daylight. Parking the car on the Esplanade he walked the few hundred yards to his hotel, checked in, dumped his bag, and headed across the road towards the beach. Leaning on the railing he pulled off his shoes and socks then stepped down onto the sand.<p>

As he walked towards the shoreline he realised that the last time he'd felt sand between his toes had been August 1985, on a disastrous family holiday in Cornwall. KGB colonel Oleg Gordievsky had just defected, and he'd been distracted, wondering what intel the Russian might be passing on. His son, already in the throes of the terrible twos, had irritated and frustrated him beyond measure; and Jane, who was already harassed and resentful, had spent the week sniping at him. In a desperate bid to salvage something from the holiday, on the last night he'd organised a babysitter and taken her out to a restaurant they could ill afford. She'd been angry, unable to either appreciate the gesture or realise how necessary it was, and the meal was largely eaten in silence, the only conversation between them the fleeting small talk of strangers. The one saving grace was that she had drunk more wine than usual, and so proved amenable afterwards to his suggestion of a walk along the beach.

Finding a deserted cove beyond the headland he'd stripped and run naked into the surf, and to his surprise she had joined him. The water had been cold, and before long she'd sought refuge on the headland, climbing up onto a plateau of rock and stretching out her long limbs to be warmed by the last rays of the sun. Treading water, he'd watched her, longing to join her, to feel her skin against his, to lose himself in her, but sure that if he made his wishes known he would shatter the fragile détente. Jane, however, knew all too well the effect she was having on him, and after tormenting him for a few more minutes she had dived into the water and with strong, sure strokes made her way back to the shore.

There, for the first and only time in their married life, she had seduced him. Normally a creature of unimaginative habit with a fondness for home comforts beyond her years, she'd dragged him down onto the nest of their clothes and ridden him as if all the hounds of hell were after them. Afterwards, sweaty, dishevelled and crumpled, they'd made their way back towards the cottage, wrapped around each other like teenagers. And then his pager had gone off.

Harry winced at the memory. Forcing his thoughts back to the present, he checked his watch. Nearly 8pm, and somehow he'd forgotten about lunch; no wonder he was hungry. Trudging back up to the Esplanade he brushed the sand off his feet as best he could with his socks, then slid his bare feet into his shoes. Scanning the seafront all he could see was B+Bs, hotels, gaudy amusement arcades and tired shopfronts. Briefly he contemplated finding a restaurant, sitting down to a healthy meal and a bottle of Pinot Noir, then he crossed the street and set off in search of a chippy.

By 9pm he was back in his room, stripped to his trunks and sipping a rather generous nightcap. The room was hot and airless, the open window making little difference to either the temperature or the movement of air within. Placing his tooth glass on the bedside table he picked up his mobile and switched it on. Seven missed calls. He scanned the log of caller IDs. Nothing that couldn't wait. Turning the phone off once more he sat on the bed, propped up against the headboard, but in the silence, with no distractions, his thoughts drifted all too quickly to Ruth Evershed; to the proposal and the subsequent rooftop conversation that had twisted the knife just that little bit deeper. He took a slug of Ardbeg and wondered once more if he'd made the right decision in withdrawing his resignation. Seeing Ruth every day was proving more difficult than he'd imagined, and he knew that he'd been taking it out on her. _We move on from this, my eye_, he thought. _Your fucking male pride's been dented so you're being unprofessional and childish and worse than that you're feeling sorry for yourself. Get a grip, for god's sake. _Suddenly overcome with weariness he downed the last of the whisky and inched himself down the bed. The thought of sleeping under the covers was anathema, but as it was the instant his head snuggled onto the pillow he drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the reviews! I've decided to stick with short chapters, so here's a brief update despite what the wonky word count would imply. Hope you enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Earlier that day<strong>

'You know, you shouldn't let him get to you.'

Beth stood at the far side of her desk, coat on, ready to go home. She looked at her blankly.

'Sorry, what?'

'Miseryguts. He was well out of order giving you such a bollocking. He'd probably had a run in with Dolby or something but that's no reason to take it out on you.'

'I forgot to knock. You know how he likes people to knock.'

'Yeah, so he has time to hide the whisky bottle. Anyway, are you coming?'

Ruth frowned. 'Um, no. A few things to finish off. Talking of Harry, have you any idea where he is?'

Beth shrugged. 'No. I think he went out around lunchtime, but no idea where.'

_'One thirty four_,' thought Ruth. 'Okay, thanks. I'll, er, see you back at the house.'

She waited until the pods had closed behind Beth before going over to Tariq's desk. Engrossed in what looked like a bout of mainframe hacking, he was oblivious to Ruth's approach.

'Tariq?'

'Oh! Hiya. Sorry. Russian banks. A bugger to get into these days. What can I do you for?'

'You wouldn't happen to know where Harry is?'

The techie shook his head. 'No, sorry. I've been kinda keeping out of his way, to tell you the truth. Have you tried his mobile?'

'Yep. He's not picking up.'

'Well, it is 6.35 on a Friday night. He's probably propping up a bar somewhere or at home cooking up beans on toast.'

'Yes. Yes, I'm sure you're right.'

Tariq looked at her curiously. 'Is everything alright?'

'Absolutely. I just need to speak to him about something.'

She gave what she hoped was a convincing smile and returned to her desk.

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><p>By the time she got down to the lobby Tariq was long gone, but thoughts of Harry niggled at her, not least his reaction when she'd gone into his office first thing that morning. He'd been on the phone, obviously finishing off the call, and so she'd loitered on the threshold. He'd hung up, chuckling, and in the same instant that she realised she hadn't seen him laughing for a long time, he turned to her. And his face fell.<p>

Suddenly it registered that James had paused in his search of her bag and was looking at her.

'S-sorry? Miles away. What...?'

'It's alright Miss, I was just wondering, finishing so late, if you had anything nice planned for the weekend?'

'Uff. Er, no. A bit sad, really. My first weekend off since March and I'll probably spend it sleeping and vegging in front of the telly.'

'Nowt wrong with that. But maybe you should take a leaf out of Sir Harry's book, miss. He's off to the seaside.'

Ruth went very still. 'Sir Harry?'

'Yes, I asked him if he had any plans and he said he was going to get some sea air. Blow away the cobwebs, he said.'

'Oh, yes of course. I'd forgotten. He's off to...ohhh, where is it again?'

'Dunno miss, he didn't say.'

'Well, let's hope the weather holds for him, eh?'

'Aye, fingers crossed.' His inspection finished, James handed back her bag.

'Thanks James. Oh, d'you know what, I've just remembered a report I should've run off. I better just go and...see you in a mo.'

Forcing herself not to run, she retraced her steps across the lobby and headed towards the lifts.

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><p>Back on the Grid Ruth went straight to Harry's desk and hit the call log button on his phone. Scrolling through the outgoing calls, she made a note of all the non-London numbers, then picking up the handset she began to dial.<p>

Five minutes, three guesthouses, a cricket ground and a couple of police forces later, there was the first glimmer of hope.

'Hello, Sands Guesthouse.'

'Oh, hi, um, I hope you can help me. I'm trying to get hold of my dad, but I can't remember the name of the guesthouse he's staying in. I just wondered if it might be yours.'

'I'm afraid we can't divulge...'

'Thing is, he's probably registered under a pseudonym, as he's a writer and if he used his real name...'

'Oh?' The flicker of interest.

'He's late fifties, blonde hair, what's left of it; brown eyes, clean shaven, a bit...tubby. He'd have checked in earlier today.'

'I really can't...'

'I've left umpteen messages on his mobile, but you know what men are like; he keeps the blooming thing switched off half the time.'

'I'm sorry, Miss...'

'Pearce.'

'Pearce. In this business you have to be discreet. If we told all and sundry...'

'Okay, fair enough. But could you just let him know I called and ask him to get in touch?'

'Well, I...'

That was all she needed. 'Thanks ever so! Goodbye!'

Cutting the call, she booted up Harry's pc and did a quick google. Ten minutes later she was out on the pavement, striding towards the bus stop. In her pocket, a google map of Weymouth.


	3. Chapter 3

**This is another ridiculously short chapter - I'll end up drabbling at this rate - but it seemed an appropriate place to pause. Thank you very much as ever for all the reviews, and hope you enjoy!**

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><p>It was early. Far too early. Rolling onto his side, he groaned as his back registered its complaint at the unfamiliar mattress. At some point during the night he'd crawled underneath the covers and the top sheet was twisted round his legs. Another restless night, then; but whatever dreams had played out had evaporated from his memory as he began to waken. Dragging his arm from underneath the pillow he squinted at his watch. 6.03am.<p>

'Bollocks to that,' he muttered, and closed his eyes once more, only to become aware of the pressure in his bladder. At that point he knew resistance was futile, and wearily he threw back the quilt, disentangled himself from the sheet, and padded through to the bathroom.

The crumpled, bleary countenance that greeted him in the mirror was not exactly full of the joys of a weekend out of harness and in pastures new. Briefly, he contemplated a shower, then realised that an early morning dip in the fresh air would probably achieve far more, far more quickly. Fossicking in the depths of his bag, he pulled out a beach towel, swim shorts, cargo shorts, a pale blue tshirt and - eyeing them in distaste – a pair of flipflops. Thus accoutred, he put his wallet and mobile in the safe and ambled downstairs.

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><p>Not at her sharpest after four hours' sleep and a three hour drive, it took Ruth a moment to register that someone had just left the guesthouse, and a moment more to realise that the ageing surfer who'd just appeared in her wing mirror was Harry.<p>

A brief flutter of panic swirled within her, as she belatedly contemplated his reaction to her arrival. After all, if he objected so vehemently to her entering his office unannounced, he was hardly likely to do handstands at her gatecrashing his weekend away. But then turning her gaze towards him once more, half expecting him to have spotted her and be striding, apoplectic, towards the car, she was distracted by the sight of his bare arms, surprisingly toned calves, and a backside that, perfectly accentuated by shorts that fitted him far better than his generously cut suits ever did, just cried out to be admired. And so unashamedly Ruth did exactly that, until along with its owner it disappeared from view.

She took a moment to compose herself, then grabbing her bag from the passenger seat she clambered out of the car. As she turned to close the door an incongruous image floated up to the top of her consciousness.

'_Flip flops_?'

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><p>Harry spread out his towel on the sand, then stripped to his swim shorts and deposited his tshirt, shorts, and flip flops on top. With more brio than he felt, he marched down to the shoreline, unleashing a torrent of profanity as the water eddied around his legs. At that moment his father's voice came back to him, the summer he'd taught him to swim. 'Never mind moaning, get into the bloody water!' Smiling at the memory, he plunged through the shallows and then launched himself, not entirely athletically, into the waves.<p>

He was all too aware that this was purely a displacement activity, that he was simply putting off the whole reason he'd come to Weymouth in the first place; to work out what the hell he was going to do about Ruth. Despite her rejection of him, he knew that however much he battened down the emotional hatches he was still in love with her. This was a love that, after a brief flicker of hope, had been bittersweet; at best giving him fleeting, lonely pleasure. Now, however, it gave him only pain. He supposed it boiled down to which was the least unbearable option; a life without Ruth in it, or a life with Ruth tantalisingly, tormentingly on the periphery, a constant reminder of the choices he'd made and of what might have been. Flopping onto his back he let the tide buffet him as he roared his despair to the heavens.

If he was expecting inspiration to materialise from the deep he was sorely disappointed, and as the cold began to seep into his tiring limbs he turned and headed back to the shore. It wasn't until he clambered to his feet and waded the last few yards that he realised there was someone else sitting on the beach.

On his towel.

Watching him.

Ruth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for the reviews! And what do I give you in this chapter by way of thanks? Angst. Mostly. And sweary words**. **And nary a hint of gratuitous pervyness.** **(Is that even a word?) Despite all that, I hope you enjoy it...!**

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><p>His heart sank.<p>

He acknowledged this with more curiosity than sorrow, and his pace didn't falter. Ruth stood, but didn't walk towards him. He took in the white cotton dress that skimmed her knees, the bare legs, the bare feet. As the wind tugged the dress taut against her thighs he was made uncomfortably aware of his own swim shorts, plastered, unforgiving, against cold flesh.

As he approached she huddled into her arms, as if steeling herself for what was to come.

Dispensing with apologies and explanations, she got straight to the point. 'H-Harry, we need to talk.'

'Ruth, unless you've discovered that Al Qaeda plans to nuke Weymouth in the next 24 hours I really don't want to know.'

As he reached her, she couldn't help but notice the scars, the puckers of pink skin, the jagged white lines, that mapped his torso. Her throat constricted, and she dropped her eyes. Harry, seeing her flinch, assumed a reaction to the soft swell of his belly, bloated in middle age by a diet of malt and takeaways and an exercise regime he could only have dreamed of in the days when he tabbed miles over boggy moors before breakfast. Feeling the colour creep up his cheeks he bent and snatched up his towel, half-turning away from her as he began to dry himself.

Ruth took a deep breath and tried again. 'Not about work, about us.'

He yanked his tshirt over his head. 'There is no us. You've made that abundantly clear.'

'Harry, we can't go on like this. You said, at the... you said, "We move on from this", and yet it is patently obvious that you can't, and you've been taking it out on me ever since.'

Harry knotted the towel around his waist and indicated brusquely for her to turn away. 'Taking it out on you? What on earth...'

'You're snappish, and...'

'Ohhhh, yesterday morning? Is _that_ what this is all about? For cr...'

'But it's not just yesterday morning, is it? And-and it's not just me. You've been short with the rest of the team as well. Beth's already wondering what she's let herself in for.'

Having worked his swim shorts down to his ankles, Harry kicked them off. 'Well, Ms Bailey is entirely at liberty to find alternative employment, if that's what she wants. As, indeed, are you.'

Stung, she whirled round. 'Is that what you want?'

Harry manoeuvred his shorts up his legs and over his hips while he considered his reply.

'I don't know,' he said finally. His fly buttoned up, he unknotted the towel and let it drop onto the sand beside him. 'You're probably the best analyst Five has ever had, but...'

Her eyes blazed. 'But because you're pissed off that I said no to your proposal I get shoved off to some Whitehall backwater, is that it?'

A rueful smile on his face, he turned towards her. 'Good to know you think so little of me. But then again, I know that much already. A simple 'no' didn't suffice; you had to point out that once upon a time you would've said yes, only I blew it. Blew it by making the decisions I have to make, have to live with, every day of my fucking life. And if that wasn't bad enough, I got told in no uncertain terms just how fucking bloody tedious married life with me would be!'

'Harry, please don't shout.'

'I mean, Jesus, Ruth!' He laced his hands together at the back of his head, and as she, shaken, went to respond, he continued, 'And as for "we couldn't be more together than we are right now..." I've never heard such preposterous bullshit in all my life! Being together is living together, sleeping together, sharing each other's hopes and dreams, worries and fears. Being together is spending time with each other, talking about everything and nothing or being happy in the silence. It's about listening, caring, love and respect. It's about trust. And perhaps you do respect me and trust me, but only as your boss, and that's as far as it goes, Ruth. That's as far as it goes!'

To her horror, she realised he was on the verge of tears. She reached for him, but he stepped away, grabbed his swim shorts and his towel, and shoved his feet into his flip flops.

'I'm going back to the guest house for a shower and some breakfast. I'd be obliged if you could go back to London and we'll discuss your employment on Monday.'

'Harry, for god's sake!' She watched as he strode across the sand. As he reached the Esplanade, she shouted, 'Harry, wait!'

Scooping up her sandals, she ran after him. _For a short arse with a dicky knee_, she thought, _he can't half shift it when he wants to_. Skittering over the tarmac, yelping as grit stabbed at her bare soles, she raced along the pavement and across the street. 'Harry, will you stop bloody running away!'

His shoulders sagged and he slowed.

'Please! I need to explain. For once can we just say what needs to be said?'

Finally, he stopped, and wincing, she stumbled to a halt a few feet away from him.

'Everything I said on the roof...I don't know, I was ...Like I said, I'd been trying to think about why I said what I said, when you asked me to marry you, I mean; and, well, I, I knew that I'd hurt you and I was trying to make things better, but instead I made them ten times worse, and I'm sorry, truly; that was the last thing I wanted to do. And as for what I said at the funeral..I was so, so _angry_ with you, Harry.'

Tentatively, she stepped towards him, her eyes never leaving his face. Harry realised he had never before looked this particular Ruth Evershed in the eye. There was a raw, unpredictable look of desperation in those vivid blue irises. He swallowed.

'Angry?'

Brushing at the soles of her feet with her fingertips, she slipped on her sandals. 'Please, can we talk about this inside or, or...'

'Have you had breakfast?' he asked, quietly.

She shook her head.

'Well, why don't you come in and wait while I have a shower, then we can try out Mrs McCarthy's Full English and take things from there?'

He could almost see the relief wash over her. 'Yes. Yes, I'd like that.'

She smiled. That tentative, dimply, luminous smile.

And he felt his foolish old heart lift, just a little.


	5. Chapter 5

**A bit longer, this one, and not exactly action packed, sorry. Thank you very much for all the reviews, and hope you enjoy.**

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><p>As Harry led the way up the steps to the guesthouse, he felt Ruth's hand on his arm.<p>

'Harry, I forgot to tell you, the owner thinks you're a writer.'

He looked at her. 'Right. Of what?'

'I didn't say. Although I implied you were famous and might be registered here under a pseudonym.'

'Hmm.' Holding open the inside door, he beckoned for Ruth to go first. 'So does this make you the daughter who's been trying to get hold of me, by any chance?'

'Yes, I thought she might be more sympathetic to a daughter trying to get in touch than a wife or, or a lover. After all, if everything was hunky dory between you, wouldn't you have brought them with you?'

'Both of them?' He grinned. 'Probably. I thought it was Catherine phoning from some Syrian jail.'

Ruth spun round, aghast. 'Oh god. Oh, Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't think...'

'But then I realised that there was no earthly way she could know that I was here. Although,' he growled, 'I could've said the same about you.'

Grinning sheepishly, she was about to respond, when she realised that Harry was looking past her down the hall. Following his gaze, she saw a middle aged woman emerge from the shadows at the far end. Thinning, mousy brown hair framed a pale, lumpy face from which two pale grey eyes regarded them curiously.

'Mrs McCarthy,' breezed Harry. 'This is Ruth Elliot, my editor. Is it okay if she joins me for breakfast?'

Despite the warmth the dawn promised, Mrs McCarthy wore a fitted black jacket over a woollen, A-line dress, which she now smoothed self-consciously over heavy hips. He had paid well over the odds for a double room, and she could hardly object. 'Of course. The dining room's just through there. Have a seat; you've got your pick this early.' She smiled, transforming her face in an instant, then turned and went back the way she'd come.

Harry headed for the stairs. 'Why don't you start without me? I'll just have a quick shower and get changed..'

Ruth pursed her lips. 'Just the shower.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Just the shower. You needn't bother changing.'

'It won't take a minute.'

She shook her head. 'What you're wearing, it's fine.'

Harry glanced down, unconvinced. 'Well, okay. See you shortly, then.'

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><p>She was sitting at a table by the window, cradling her teacup in both hands, mind obviously miles away. He hesitated on the threshold for a moment, committing to memory the chestnut hair gently curling onto her shoulders, the dips above her collarbones, the slender arms that were usually buried under shapeless layers, the astonishing blue eyes... She must have sensed him watching her, for she visibly snapped back to the present and turned towards the doorway. Seeing him, she gave a tentative smile and dipped her head once more.<p>

As he sat down opposite her, he noticed that her fingers were still; that she wasn't fizzing with her usual nervous energy as she waited for the chance to tell him whatever arcane fact she knew or tenuous connection she'd just unearthed. Was this a good sign? Not for the first time that morning he wondered what he'd let himself in for. Surely letting her explain why she was so _angry _with him was only going to deepen wounds that hadn't even begun to heal. Despite himself he sighed.

She placed her teacup very precisely in its saucer and took a deep breath. 'Can I say one thing first of all? About what you said earlier?'

'Could I perhaps have something to eat before you lose me my appetite?'

'Harry, I came here to try to fix things, not upset you even more.'

He picked up the menu and began to read. 'That's a point. Of all the weekends you could've picked since Ros's funeral, why this one? Surely a bus across London is much easier than a three hour drive across country? And why a weekend at all? Why not just ask to speak to me at work?'

Tempted though she was to snatch the menu from his hands and make him look at her, she resisted. 'I suppose it's because I didn't really realise until yesterday how much I'd hurt you.'

'Ha!'

'I know you don't like people just barging into your office, but you never used to mind me doing it, and your reaction was...disproportionate, frankly.'

His jaw jutted out as if smarting from a blow.

'And you've been short with everyone, more so than usual, and it seems as if you have the cares of the world on your shoulders, and...ohhhh...' As she wearily rubbed her eyes Harry looked up.

'But the tin lid was first thing yesterday morning, when I went to your office to have a word with you about a threat report.' She held his gaze, willing him to know what she was talking about so she wouldn't have to say the words. His face remained impassive.

'You were on the phone, laughing at something. And then you hung up and saw me and...your face fell.'

Before Harry could respond, the kitchen door opened and a waiter appeared. A dishevelled mop of blonde hair topped an open, friendly face scattered with freckles. All legs and elbows, his body had seemingly forgotten to fill out as well as lengthen; a recent growth spurt was evidenced by his trousers stopping just short of his ankles.

He gave Ruth a cheery grin. 'Hello again. Ready to order something to eat?'

Her smile was rather more forced. 'I'll have the kippers, please, and some oatmeal toast.'

'More tea?'

'Oh, yes. Thanks.'

He turned to Harry. 'Morning, sir. What can I get you?'

He reeled off a list. 'And make that tea for two.'

'Right you are, sir.' Still scribbling, the boy turned and ambled back to the kitchen.

Harry watched him go, then returned his attention to Ruth. She was leaning back in her chair, her eyes focused on her hands in her lap.

'Ruth, I..' he sighed. 'What I feel for you, I can't just turn that off. So, seeing you every day knowing what you think of me, knowing that there's no hope of ...well, it's not easy. But as for yesterday morning, you looked exhausted and very down, and I was concerned. That's all.'

Her eyes flicked up. 'Really. If you were concerned for me I wouldn't have thought that shortly afterwards you would tear me off a strip purely for walking into your office and forgetting to bloody knock.'

At the other side of the room the door burst open. Both watched as a group of holidaymakers trooped in, loudly recounting their previous day's attempts at learning to sail.

'It was unfortunate timing, that was all,' he said finally. 'A bad day at the office and you bore the brunt of it.'

She smiled faintly. 'Once upon a time you would have told me what that bad day had entailed.'

'Ruth, the point of this weekend was to get away from everyone and everything – even Scarlet, for god's sake – so forgive me if I choose not to relive every demoralising, frustrating, mind numbing aspect of what happened yesterday.'

At that point the waiter re-appeared with a fresh pot of tea and a rack of toast and he lapsed into silence.

'Shall I?' asked Ruth, reaching for the teapot.

He nodded.

'We seem to have got off topic, rather. I was talking about what you said earlier...'

Harry, half-heartedly buttering a slice of toast, groaned.

'What you said about married life with you being tedious. I promise you that's not what I meant. It's a million miles from what I meant.' She took a deep breath. 'In the early days of my...solo grand tour, I had nothing but my memories and my dreams, and as we hadn't exactly made many memories, it was thinking about the what might have been that kept me sane. I thought about you a lot, Harry, about the life we might have had. And believe you me, it wasn't tedious.'

'What was it like, then?'

She turned to look out the window. She was blushing, and trying not to smile.

'Well, there was rather a lot of sex.'

'Hm. Lots of _tedious _sex?'

'Tedious is not _quite _the word I'd use.'

'What word would you use then?'

'Oh, quit fishing for compliments.'

He laughed. 'That good?'

Smiling, she picked up her teacup. 'Shut up and eat your toast.'

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><p>'Okay? Are we ready to go? Where <em>are<em> we going, anyway?'

'Hang on a sec.' He dinged the reception bell.

A few seconds later, Mrs McCarthy appeared carrying a couple of carrier bags.

'Here you go, Mr Pearce. I'm sorry I don't have a cool bag to lend you...'

Harry shook his head. 'Not a problem. I have a coolbox in the boot. Thank you.' He turned to go.

'I hope you don't mind my asking. I, er, gather that you're a writer but I'm afraid I don't recognise the name. What is it that you write?'

'Erotica,' said Harry, smoothly.

Ruth chewed her lip. 'He's very good,' she said brightly, after a pause. 'Won lots of awards.'

'Not Richard and Judy?'

'No,' confirmed Harry regretfully. 'Not Richard and Judy.' He held up the carrier bags. 'But hence the picnic. I mean, we can't really discuss erections and orgasms in the middle of a cafe, can we?'

Two little pink spots had appeared high on Mrs McCarthy's cheeks. 'No, I suppose not. Well, I, er, hope you have a nice day.'

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><p>'<em>Erotica<em>?' said Ruth, as they trotted down the steps. 'What on earth...'

'Hey, you're the one who's been having all these vivid sexual fantasies. Anyway, I thought it would be the one genre that would probably not provoke any further questions.'

'Or requests to name a character after her in your next book.'

He laughed. 'Uh, Ruth, my car's this way.'

'And mine's right here.'

'My car, Ruth.'

'Oh, so you're going to get all macho and insist on driving?'

'My car's more comfortable...'

'And mine's smaller and nippier than your tank. Are we heading west?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, it'll be better on all the windy, twisty roads.'

'On windy, twisty roads it's all the other idiot drivers we need to worry about, not us, and on that basis we'd be better off in my tank, as you put it.'

As Ruth opened her mouth to argue further, he added, triumphantly, 'Plus, you were up driving half the bloody night. I'm at least properly rested.'

She conceded defeat.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the town, Ruth was fast asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter has been a nightmare to write; no idea why. As such, it's probably a bit heavy going, sorry, and I'm not sure if it works. Anyway, one more to go after this. Thank you all for R+Ring.**

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><p>He turned the engine off, thinking the sudden stillness and silence might wake her, but she didn't stir. Tentatively he looped a stray lock of hair behind her ear.<p>

'Ruth?'

He laid his hand on her shoulder. 'Ruth, we're here.'

With a soft moan she turned towards him and her eyes flickered open. Her lips stretched slowly into a smile. 'Oh god, sorry, I was completely out of it.'

Harry, who at that moment would have given his right arm to kiss her, undid his seatbelt. 'Take a moment to come to. I'll just go and stretch my legs.'

Arching her back, she stretched into a yawn. 'No, no, I'm fine.'

They were parked high on a clifftop. A few feet away, a lone bench faced out to sea, which stretched out below, in layers of blue and dancing sunlight, to the far horizon. Ruth caught her breath. 'What a gorgeous view!'

Neither wanting to spoil the moment nor prolong the inevitable, Harry reached reluctantly for his door handle. 'I thought it seemed a good place to talk.'

Her face fell. 'Yes. Yes, you're right.'

They walked in silence over to the bench. He sat down first, not quite in the middle, not quite at the end. She could almost see the tension radiating off him. He sat, back ramrod straight, legs together, hands on thighs, as if posing for the class photograph at school. Only he wasn't smiling, and his eyes were hidden behind the black lenses of his sunglasses. After a moment's hesitation she sat down beside him.

'Okay,' she said. 'Okay. Can I ask one thing? That you just let me speak. No matter how...how shouty or upset I get, or how...whatever... you get, you don't interrupt. Agreed?'

Barely perceptibly, he nodded.

She sat for a moment, her fingers fluttering in her lap, then she burst out, 'You're probably thinking that I was still angry with you about George, about your dragging me back into your grimy little world when I'd finally made a life of my own, but it's not that. Or at least that's only part of it. You made me give a reading at Ros's funeral, Harry. All the colleagues, _friends_, you hadn't allowed me to grieve, and you made me grieve her. You made me stand up in a church and speak...' she took a deep, shuddering breath, '...for the woman who had not only killed Jo and been culpable in Adam's death, but who, out of sheer malice, out of a wish to get back at you, had ruined my life.'

Behind the black lenses, Harry's eyes briefly closed.

'I know you laughed at my vivid sexual fantasies, as you put it, but had Ros kept her mouth shut, I like to think we'd have got past the dancing around each other bit and got our act together. By-by now, who knows, we could've been married, had-had a baby, even. But Ros deprived us of that, and arguably deprived George of his future and Nico of his father. And what was your response to all of this? What did you do, Harry? Decommission her? Transfer her? Make her life a living hell? No. You made her your sodding section chief!'

Harry's head dropped onto his chest.

'And then,' Ruth leapt to her feet and began pacing, 'after she gets herself blown up, my god, but everyone knows all about it. Everyone knows that Harry Pearce's golden girl has died a hero's death, and bloody hell but you grieved for her. Colin, Danny, Zaf, Jo, even Adam for all I know...water off a duck's back, but Ros...! I mean, for Christ's sake, Harry!'

The hand that rubbed at his forehead was shaking. He watched her for a moment as she walked towards the cliff edge, then hesitantly he stood and followed her.

'Ruth,' he whispered.

As she turned, he reached for her.

'Oh no you don't, Harry Pearce, no you bloody don't!'

As her fists rained on his chest he pulled her into him, and finally the tears began to fall.

* * *

><p>Gradually the tears subsided into hiccuping breaths, and then her breathing began to slow.<p>

'Permission to speak?' he asked softly, his head still resting on hers.

She nodded against his chest. 'Mm.'

'I want to make this better, Ruth, but I haven't a bloody clue what to do. I-I'm sorry about the reading; it never crossed my mind that the whole Maudsley affair would still be an issue...'

She pushed out of his arms. 'What?'

'I thought the two of you had made your peace. And anyway, it was Mace I blamed for what happened, not Ros.'

'But...'

'I know, I know.' He sighed. 'And Ros was one of the best field officers I've ever worked with. Throwing her to the wolves in a fit of pique...'

Ruth stared at him, incredulous. 'Fit of pique?'

'...wouldn't have achieved anything. And frankly, I needed her; Section D needed her. Adam was, well, you know the state Adam was in, and I was,' he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, 'not much better, if I'm honest. For all I blame Mace, because I panicked when you were frogmarched off the Grid, because I didn't take the time to think it all through, you had to walk away from your life and everything and everyone you'd ever known, and I...I had to live with that, and with the fact that in all probability I would never see you again.' He wrapped his arms around himself. 'I didn't cope with that very well, and somehow the fact that Ros had set the whole thing in motion...it was irrelevant.'

The eyes boring into his, red-rimmed from crying, gave nothing away.

'And as for the grieving thing...'

'Don't, that was...'

'For whatever reason, perhaps because I was there, because I saw the hotel go up, Ros's death hit me harder than anyone's since...Archie, probably. And on top of everything else, particularly so soon after Adam, it was just the proverbial last straw.' He rubbed at a non-existent speck on his shorts. 'Distraction and denial has always been the best form of therapy for me, Ruth, but for once I didn't _want_ to just pick myself up, pay my respects and move on, like I'd done countless times before.' He chuckled. 'And then you accused me of wallowing in self pity.'

'Oh, Harry.'

'Ruth, I can't undo what's been done, and it seems as if all I ever do is hurt you and upset you and let you down, and while that has never been my intention, I am truly sorry.'

'I know.'

He took in a lungful of air. 'But I can't carry on like this. If there is absolutely no future for us then I need to know.'

'So you can set the transfer wheels in motion?'

He groaned. 'No. That would neither be fair to you nor the section, even if it might be the lesser of two evils for me.'

'Oh, thanks a bunch.'

'Do you think it's easy, Ruth? Seeing the woman I love every day and knowing that not only does she not want to be with me, but that she despises me?'

Ruth's head dropped. 'I don't despise you, Harry. I-I hate some of the decisions you've made, some of the things you've done, but in your shoes, how can I say I would have done any differently?'

'If our roles had been reversed,' he said quietly, 'I'm sure you would have believed me about Maudsley.'

Ruth didn't respond and wearily he walked back to the bench and slumped down, hands dangling between his knees. 'You said you came to fix things. Do you now consider things fixed?'

'Hardly.'

'Well, what would you consider fixed?'

'Our finding a way to work together without constantly locking horns.'

'Really? That's it?' Harry leaned back against the bench. 'Well, I guess that answers my other question.'

Ruth was beginning to get the feeling that her attempt at a rapprochement was rapidly spiralling out of control. Distractedly she rubbed at her forehead. 'Uh, what other question?'

'As to whether you and I have a future. A few moments ago you were talking marriage and babies, now it seems a cordial working relationship is the best I can hope for.'

'What did you expect me to say? Do you really think we can go from your hardly being able to be in the same room as me to wanting to make mad, passionate love to me in the space of a morning?'

'The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive,' he muttered. 'So what are you saying, then? That you _do_ want me? That we need to take things slowly? Because bugger me sideways, Ruth, we really have rushed headlong into this, haven't we?'

She sat down beside him. 'There's no need to be sarcastic.'

Despairing, Harry dragged his palms up and over his head, lacing his fingers at the back of his neck. 'What do you _want_, Ruth?'

'I don't want this. I hate this...how we are. We're like balls on a pinball board, occasionally ricocheting off each other but in the main bouncing around at opposite ends of the board, with no idea where either of us is going, desperately trying to avoid dropping into oblivion but never actually going anywhere.'

He frowned. 'There's only one ball on a pinball board.'

'My point exactly. This isn't a natural state of affairs...'

'Ruth, we work for the Security Services, not Sainsbury's. The normal rules don't apply.'

'Regardless we can't carry on like this; we're just making each other unhappy.'

'And that's the easiest thing in the world to sort!'

'Is it? Do you really think so?'

'Yes!' His hand reached for hers. 'Ruth, do you love me?'

'You know I do. Always.'

'And do you want us to be together?'

Slowly, she shook her head. 'Too much has happened.'

'And what? Because of the things we've seen, we've done, do you feel we don't deserve to be happy, is that it? Oh god, Ruth, please don't cry.'

Gently he tilted her head up and thumbed away the fresh tears. As their eyes locked he glimpsed the brief but unmistakeable flash of desire.

He swallowed, and heart hammering, bent his head to hers.


	7. Chapter 7

**I am chuffed to bits with all the reviews for this fic; thank you so much! You are lovely, you are. And now, the final chapter. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p>As they broke apart they sat for a moment, foreheads touching, hands resting on bare skin, their breathing deepening and slowing as one breath. Certain that anything he said was bound to ruin the moment, Harry remained silent, and keeping his eyes closed he concentrated on the sensation of her hands cradling his head, her thumb idly caressing his stubbled jawline.<p>

Ruth's first coherent thought was to wonder if she should remove Harry's hand from her thigh, it having somehow inveigled its way under her dress. In the same moment that she decided she was quite happy where it was, she realised that all motor skills had deserted her anyway. She felt him stir against her and his lips began to explore her neck, working their way slowly up to her ear. As his teeth gently tugged on her earlobe she was unable to stifle a soft moan, and she sensed his triumphant but all too brief smile as his lips swiftly resumed their ministrations. Seemingly of their own accord her fingers crept round to the nape of his neck, simultaneously caressing him and pulling him against her. Then all of a sudden they stilled.

'Ohhh...Harry...'

He ignored her.

'Harry, whoa...'

She arched away from him, her palms on his chest reinforcing her intent.

He looked at her, his eyes glazed as if punch drunk. 'Wha...?'

'Harry, we can't. Not here...'

'Okay.' He flashed a devilish grin. 'I'll just have to smuggle you past Mrs McCarthy; I can claim I'm doing a bit of hands-on research for my next book.'

'...and not now. If we just jump into bed all it will do is muddy the waters even more than they already are.'

He sighed. 'Ruth, as well you know, declarations of love are not exactly my forte. But a long time ago I fell for you, hook, line, sinker and bloody rod. So much so that all the love songs, all the Byrons and the Brownings and the Shakespeares and the Shelleys now make sense . And despite everything, even though you know me better than anyone else on this planet, you love me too. The waters aren't muddy, Ruth, they're crystal clear, Caribbean blue, calm.' He took her hands in his. 'All you need to do is dive in.'

Her hands fluttered, but she didn't pull away. 'You make it sound so simple.'

'It _is_. Look, we get on well. We have shared interests. And yes, there's the physical attraction, but that's the cherry on the cake; we're so much more than that.'

Ruth's gaze had fallen to her lap, and he ducked his head, trying to catch her eye.

'I can't undo what's already done,' he repeated, 'but if you give me a chance I will spend the rest of my life doing my level best to make you happy. Please.'

Avoiding his eyes she got to her feet. 'Can-can we just go somewhere else? It's getting way too hot here and I haven't put on any sunscreen.'

Nonplussed at the conversation shift, Harry took a moment to respond. 'Um. Yes, of course,' he replied, quietly. 'How about Lyme Regis?'

Ruth nodded. 'That's fine.'

In silence they walked back to the car.

* * *

><p>'Christ on a bike,' grumbled Harry. 'Do they not know we've moved on a bit from horses and carts?'<p>

Ruth eyed him. 'I told you we should've taken my car.'

'Is there anywhere that isn't double yellow bloody lines on both sides? Where the hell are you supposed to park?'

'Charmouth Road,' said Ruth, mechanically. 'There's a long stay car park there.'

'You know this place?'

'I used to; haven't been for a while.' Punctuated by much hand waving she reeled off directions, and muttering under his breath Harry eased the car through the narrow streets and headed north.

* * *

><p>'Bit of a trek down the hill,' Harry observed, as he switched off the engine.<p>

'It'll do us both good. Can you bring the packed lunch? For all I ate half the herring fishing stock at breakfast I'm starving now.'

He hesitated. 'Ruth, are you...is everything...'

'I'm fine. I'm just tired.' Her fingertips drifted to her belly. 'And a bit...you know.' She felt she owed him that, at least, yet she hadn't expected him to immediately realise what she meant. Stupid really; he had been married, he had a daughter, and he wasn't quite as unenlightened and insensitive as he sometimes led people to believe.

He was touched, encouraged, by the intimacy of her admission; yet still he blushed.

'Right. Right. Can I get you anything? Painkillers? Cup of tea?'

She smiled. 'Tea would be lovely.'

'Come on, then,' he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. 'Let's go.'

* * *

><p>Having found a bench in the shadow of the harbour wall, Harry left Ruth with the picnic bags while he went off in search of takeaway tea. A balmy breeze had sprung up, tempering the harsh heat of the early afternoon sun, and stretching her legs out in front of her she tilted her face skywards, enjoying the feeling of the warmth on her bare skin. Almost immediately, though, she was aware of someone sitting down beside her.<p>

Opening her eyes, she turned to see an elderly lady, gnarled hands clasped around a metal walking stick, happed up in unseasonal layers and a bobbled woollen hat, gazing out to sea. Feeling somewhat guilty she said, 'I-I'm sorry, that seat's taken...um...he's just gone to get some tea.'

The old lady gave her a snaggletoothed smile. 'No worries, lovey, I just need to rest these old bones for a moment or two. I'll be on my way before your young man comes back.'

'Young man? He'd be thrilled to hear you call him that. But, um, he's not. My young man, I mean. Or young. Particularly.'

She'd seen Harry glance back at Ruth as he walked off, and the look in his eyes had been unmistakeable. 'But he'd like to be, I think. Your young man.'

Taken aback, aware of the flush creeping up her cheeks, Ruth looked away.

'Sorry, lovey, if I speak out of turn. But you don't think he's the one for you?'

It was a few moments before Ruth spoke, and then her voice was barely audible.

'I don't deserve him.'

She sensed the old lady shift and then a cold, bony hand closed over hers.

'But it's not for us to say what we deserve, lovey; that's for others to decide. And I find that mostly people are much harder on themselves than they are on others. Don't you think?'

Ruth stared at her.

'When me and my Robbie was courting,' the old lady continued, 'my old mum, god rest her soul, told me there are three questions a woman has to ask herself about the man she wants to marry: are the two of you good friends; will he make a good father; and will you still want to wake up beside him every morning when he's as old and grey and saggy as his underpants.'

'Ha! And did Robbie tick all those boxes?'

'Goodness me, lovey, no. But I fell for our eldest and we had to get married. You did in them days. Forty seven years we were together, and for all the names I called him, for all the troubles we had, we was happy. Yet I sometimes think young people today don't know how to be happy, nor do they appreciate that marriage is bloomin' hard work. You got to keep at it, lovey. Compromise. Make allowances. Nobody's perfect, after all; especially men.'

Ruth smiled.

The old lady patted her hand and levered herself to her feet. 'Anyway, best be off. Nice talking to you, lovey. You take care.'

'Thank you,' said Ruth, watching her go. 'And you too.'

* * *

><p>'Well, if that was lunch, we've had it.' Balling up the remaining carrier bag, Harry tied it into a knot and lobbed it into the waste bin a few feet away. 'Bloody good it was, too.' He turned to Ruth. 'How are you feeling? Any better?'<p>

She looked up. 'The tea was lovely, and the picnic. But not really, not yet; unfortunately that's not how it works.'

'Ah.'

'I'm embarrassing you. Sorry.'

His smile was bashful. 'I'm about twenty years too old to be a modern man, Ruth, and I'm so lousy at keeping in touch with my feminine side that she's taken me off her Christmas card list.'

'Says the man whom poetry moves to tears.'

The blue eyes that held his gaze were unreadable.

'Ruth?'

'You know, the best painkillers are natural ones.'

'What?'

'Endorphins.'

'Right.'

'And the best way to release them is by exertion.'

'Yeah...'

'Vigorous exertion. Like running...'

'Ruth, I am not legging it up that bloody hill!'

'...or, or having sex.'

Harry went very still. 'Mm,' he said, eventually.

Now the blue eyes were beseeching.'Harry...?'

He swallowed. 'You mean?'

'Mm.'

'You? And me?'

She rolled her eyes.

'Have sex?'

'Mm.'

He exhaled. 'Seriously?'

'Yes, seriously.'

'Are you sure about this?'

'For god's sake, Harry, a matter of hours ago you were all for ravishing me on a bloody clifftop, now you're pussyfooting around like some teenager who's being seduced, but who despite all his macho posturing hasn't actually done it before.'

'Trust me, Ruth,' he said drily, 'I've done it at least twice.' He sighed. 'Are you sure you won't bolt? See me in the altogether and leg it?'

She reached over and gently cupped his face. 'I promise,' she whispered.

Harry stared at her for a moment, then reaching into his trouser pocket he pulled out his mobile phone and began dialling.

'What are you doing? Who on earth are you calling? Harry...'

'Tariq.'

'What? Why?'

'He's on duty this weekend, isn't he?'

'Yes, I think so, but...'

'I'm getting him to deactivate every bloody speed camera between here and Weymouth.'

* * *

><p><strong>Monday <strong>

Dimitri did a double take as Ruth walked in.

'Morning, Evershed. You're looking particularly gorgeous today...'

'Dimitri!' protested Beth.

He eyed her, swiftly and with expert eyes discounting the usual suspects of a new hairdo or a new outfit. It was her skin. Her skin was...glowing. 'Have you got the sun?'

Ignoring him, Ruth sat down and booted up her computer.

'It wasn't_ that_ sunny over the weekend. Not here, at any rate,' he persisted.

'Harry's got a touch of sunburn,' said Tariq, helpfully. 'On the back of his neck.'

All heads swivelled towards him.

Lucas broke the silence. 'And now you come to mention it, when Harry headed off to meet Dolby first thing he was _whistling._'

All heads swivelled towards Ruth, who resolutely kept her eyes on her monitor.

One by one, Lucas caught the eye of his colleagues, and as he executed a chopping motion at his throat, they bent their heads to their work, still smiling.

A few moments later, above the rustle of papers and tapping of keyboards, Lucas's low murmur could be heard.

'_About bloody time_.'


End file.
